


Married Life

by Persiflage



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Banter, Canon Disabled Character, Cooking, Couch Cuddles, Couch Sex, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Future Fic, Inhumans (Marvel), Married Couple, Older Man/Younger Woman, POV Phil Coulson, Phil Coulson's Prosthetic Hand, Phil Coulson: damsel in distress, Skye | Daisy Johnson's Superpowers, Slice of Life, Undercover, Woman on Top, fostering, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-06
Updated: 2016-10-06
Packaged: 2018-08-19 20:32:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8223920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Persiflage/pseuds/Persiflage
Summary: Just an ordinary day in the life of Daisy Johnson, superhero, and her husband Phil Coulson.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BrilliantlyHorrid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrilliantlyHorrid/gifts).



> This one's a birthday fic for brilliantlyhorrid - she wanted fluff. I think I may've gone a bit overboard on that score.

Phil Coulson feels the vibrations first, of course, and he smirks, knowing just what that means. These guys do not stand a snowball's chance in hell of getting away with this.

The door bursts open, literally splintering apart, and the men nearest to it cry out in shock and pain as bits of wood rip into their bodies.

"Hi, honey, I'm home," Daisy calls as she strides into the room.

"Darling, you're late," Coulson responds, smirking more now that he sees her. This moment, when she makes her entrance, never gets old: she looks magnificent, as always, in her field suit, her hair tied back in a ponytail.

"Sorry, darling, traffic was murder," she says, and he can see that for all their silly banter, she's assessed the situation immediately, and within moments the eight men scattered around the room are writhing on the floor in various attitudes of pain and misery, or are simply out cold.

She comes across the room to where he's still sitting in a chair: his ankles are strapped to the chair legs, his arms are strapped together behind the back of the chair, and his deactivated prosthetic is lying on a table several feet away. She lifts her right hand and gently cups his cheek.

"Are you okay?" she asks, glancing over at the prosthetic. "They didn't – "

"They hadn't got around to that yet," he says swiftly, knowing how much she worries about him getting hurt on field missions.

"Good." She leans down and kisses him, long and slow, exactly as if they were in no hurry at all. "Good." 

She grabs his prosthetic and sets it in his lap for the moment because she needs to release his arms before it can be reconnected. 

"I'm glad you found me so quickly," he tells her as she gets the straps undone and gently moves his arms from behind the chair, then begins carefully vibrating his muscles, easing the cramps and strain in them from an hour and more of being tied in such an awkward position.

"Well that tracker in your hand is very – " She pauses deliberately, and he's already rolling his eyes before she says, "handy."

"Daisy," he protests.

She smirks. "C'mon Phil, you know we can't resist the hand puns, either of us."

He nods agreement, then winces slightly when she slots his prosthetic back in place. She curls her hand around the spot where the robot hand joins his stump. "Sure you're okay?" she asks, her voice soft and her eyes full of concern.

"Promise," he says, and reaches out with his left hand to curl it around the nape of her neck so he can kiss her by way of thanks.

She nods, then gets his legs free. Then she taps at her ear, and says, "Mack? You can send in the cleanup team now."

Coulson can't help smiling a little. Mack had pretty much begged them to turn off their comms whenever it came to reunions on the field because, he said, it hurt his eyes rolling them so much as he listened to their ridiculously 'dorky banter' (his words) and the kissing. 

Daisy slides her right arm around him, and hugs him to her one-armed, then leaves her arm there as she leads him out of the room, and to the safety of their RV.

DJ-PC-DJ-PC-DJ

Hours later, Coulson's presiding over the stove, making dinner for himself and Daisy while she's upstairs getting 6 year old Emily, the Inhuman girl they're long-term fostering, to bed. He hears Daisy walk into the kitchen behind him.

"Is she asleep?" he asks without turning around as his sauce at a critical stage.

"Finally," Daisy sighs, and a moment later her arms wrap around his body, her forehead pressing against his back. "Kids are exhausting. Inhumans kids, triply so."

He pats her arms where they're folded across his chest, then asks, "How many lullabies did she need?"

"Three," Daisy says in dramatic tones, which makes him chuckle. The revelation that Daisy can sing had pretty much floored him, and at the time he'd be unable to avoid thinking about how much he wished her life had turned out differently – she could've been a star by now, with a voice like hers. If only.

"Is this nearly ready?" she asks.

"Hungry?" he teases.

"Starving," she agrees easily. "But more relevantly, I do have to go back out in an hour."

He turns his upper body, trying to see her, and she obligingly moves around to his side. He feels his mouth go dry and all his blood rush south at the sight of her. She smirks, knowing exactly what he's feeling because of her amazing ability to read people's, especially his, vibrations.

"Shit, Daisy, I forgot you had that parent-teacher conference this evening. I'm sorry. I'd – "

"Phil," she says, cutting him off. "It's fine. Watch your sauce."

His eyes snap back to the sauce, and he stares intently into the pan for a few moments, stirring it carefully, before risking another look at Daisy. "You look amazing," he says, and she rolls her eyes a little, then shakes her head. 

"I hope I look like a suburban mom," she counters.

He shrugs. She's wearing two thin cotton sweaters, one layered over the other, the bottom one is the shade of golden fall leaves and has a round neck, the top one has a v-neck and is a darker shade nearer to brown. Over them she's wearing a dark green wool blazer, all of which are teamed with a slightly darker green pair of pants. She's put her hair up in a bun, and is wearing the glasses with plain lenses that she likes to adopt to make herself look older, and less like a superhero (according to her).

He takes the pan from the burner, and nods at the table. "Take a seat," he says, "and we'll eat."

She leans around the pan, and plants a kiss on his cheek. "Thanks honey."

He rolls his eyes a bit because they don't really do those endearments except when they're out on the field, then smirks as she takes a seat. Minutes later their meal is served up and Daisy's talking animatedly between bites, waving her fork to illustrate her point, and he feels such a rush of love, and affection, and fondness that he almost can't bear to look at her. He never, in a million years, would've predicted they'd end up like this: married and living in a safehouse, where they foster children, particularly Inhuman children. They don't go on too many field missions together any more because Coulson enjoys being a house-husband and stay-at-home-parent. ( _Well of course you do!_ Daisy had exclaimed when he'd confessed this. _This is your boyhood dream come true._ ) Today's mission had gone a bit south, however, with him getting separated from Daisy, and then being kidnapped. (She said to him once that if he was more macho, he'd resent the fact that he got kidnapped so often, and he'd told her that he was glad he wasn't more macho because he enjoys getting rescued by her. She'd nicknamed him Damsel, as in Damsel in Distress, after that.)

"Phil, are you even listening to me?" Daisy's eyes of full of laughter as she pretends to be annoyed with him for getting lost in a reverie while staring at her.

"Of course," he says, then realises that, just for once, he actually doesn't know what she was talking about. She must realise because she rolls her eyes, smacks his left forearm, then repeats what she was telling him.

When she gets up to find her coat before heading to Emily's school, he gets up too, and wraps her in a hug. "Thanks for the rescue today," he says softly.

"Dork," she answers, then kisses him sloppily. "You can thank me properly later, okay?"

"Deal," he agrees easily. "Have fun."

She shakes her head. "Only _you_ would think parent-teacher conferences are fun, Phil."

He pouts, and she chuckles, then kisses him more briefly, before heading out. He follows her, and smiles when she pulls on a long wool coat that matches the colour of her fall-leaves sweater, before she grabs Lola's keys from the side table in the hall. 

DJ-PC-DJ-PC-DJ

When Daisy lets herself back into the house a couple of hours later, Coulson's half asleep on the couch, a record playing quietly in the background. He was supposed to be reading a report, but it's written in the most boring style imaginable, so it wasn't really keeping his attention. He feels himself perking up a bit at the sight of Daisy, however. Her cheeks are wind-reddened and he guesses she flew Lola back rather than driving.

"Hey," she says softly as she spots him, then pauses by the door to shed her coat and boots. She pulls off the blazer and hangs that on the back of a chair, and he smiles at her. The sheer domesticity of the scene thrills him.

"Hey yourself." He sets down the file folder and holds out an arm to her, and she sighs then comes to sit beside him on the couch. "Okay?"

"Yeah. Everyone was really pleased with how well Emily's settling in," she says. "All good reports, but especially from her music teacher."

"Good." He kisses her temple, and she hums.

"I could use a drink, though, if you feel inclined."

"Okay." He disentangles himself, then goes over to the cabinet and pours them both a shot of bourbon, then brings the glasses back to the couch. Daisy's stretched out along the length of the seat, and her sweaters have ridden up to show a narrow strip of skin above the waistband of her pants, and just like that he wants her desperately. 

She looks up at him, smirks, then reaches up and takes the glass from him. "You're a star, Phil," she says, then shifts across the seat so there's space for him to stretch out beside her. He accepts the invitation, but only after he's taken a moment to adjust his burgeoning erection inside his jeans, which makes Daisy smirk even harder. He slides his left arm around her shoulders, and she turns her head and kisses his cheek, then rubs her nose against it, nuzzling. It sends a jolt of desire through his body, and she goes from smirking to grinning widely, but she makes no further move for the moment, and they sip their drinks in a silence that's simmering with desire. 

Once they've emptied their glasses she takes his from him, and sets them both on the coffee table, stretching agilely across his body, then she moves to straddle his thighs, and he groans her name softly.

"I believe I owe you a 'thank you'," he says, and she hums again, then links her arms loosely around his neck.

"I believe you do."

He wraps his left arm across her back, then curls his right hand around the back of her neck and they kiss hungrily, then increasingly sloppily, and he can feel the heat between her thighs, as well as the pressure of his swollen cock behind the zipper of his jeans.

"Phil," she murmurs, and unfastens his belt, button, and zipper.

"Daisy," he murmurs back, and gets her pants undone as well. 

After a little manoeuvring of their respective clothing, she guides his dick into her slick heat, and moans as he fills her. They kiss some more, simply enjoying the sensation of his cock being buried inside her, then he slides his hands up her sides to cup her breasts, bare beneath her sweaters. She moans into his mouth, then tightens her muscles around his cock, which makes him moan in turn. She leans back once they pull apart to catch their breath, then tugs her sweaters off, and he groans at the sight of her: her powerful shoulders; her hair loose around those shoulders; her breasts, which fill his hands nicely; and the slight marring of the skin on her stomach from where Quinn shot her all those years ago.

"You're gorgeous," he tells her, then leans up to kiss her some more. She tugs at the bottom of his sweater and he releases her mouth so she can pull off his sweater, then his polo shirt. She lightly trails her fingernails down his chest before tweaking his nipples, and his hips jerk involuntarily beneath her. That elicits a chuckle, then she grasps his shoulders and begins to move over him. He strokes his hands up and down her sides, pausing to thumb her nipples when his hands reach her breasts, and lightly squeezing her hips when his hands reach them.

They kiss some more, and then she starts to move faster, riding him hard, and he hangs onto her hips. She comes hard with a soft cry, her face looking more beautiful than ever when she's in the throes of release. After that she kisses him harder, biting at his bottom lip, then she nips her teeth over his chin, and he gasps, then starts to thrust properly; she moans "Good boy, Phil," before she's coming again, and that sets him off too.

She leans against his chest, and he wraps his arms around her torso, the two of them breathing heavily.

"We should go to bed," he tells her after a little while. "You've got to go to the Playground tomorrow, and that'll mean an early start."

"Yeah," she sighs. She sits back up, then kisses him softly before moving off him. They gather up their discarded clothing, then head into the bedroom, and Coulson can't help thinking that married life suits them both extremely well.


End file.
